All I Want
by WellDoneBeca
Summary: Being a princess, Sansa had learnt since the beginning to put the crown before everything in her life, and if she hadn't learnt that lesson before she needed to, now. Marrying Jon was never in her plans, but she needed him as much as he needed her. All she wanted was to love him and to be loved back. Nothing more than that. Nothing less.
1. Prologue

So,** a short warning**: I've reconstructed the whole family tree of every family in this story. Some people have different parents, some people have one canon parent and a whole different character as their in-story parent...  
Here is the full tree on Sansa's side ( _ 66\. media. tumblr 101f95e0b24ebdb35511bbcc884b1c02/f278cb5f3f7ba6d0-e1/s1280x1920/da23186dc5794f203768c2476286959884710dc2 .jpg ),_ just remove the spaces.

I will update it as the story goes (who dies, who is born, who marries who, who divorces who...), but the story explains everything very well - don't trust me? Trust my beta reader who understood the basics without me explaining everything.  
That is all. Enjoy the chapter.

* * *

Sansa took a long and deep breath, staring at herself in the mirror. The wedding dress looked perfect on her, but her eyes could barely register it.

"You don't need to do it," Eddard touched her back. "We can find another way."

She just kept staring at herself in the mirror. Her face was cold, and her eyes were digging so deep into her own reflection that Sansa could feel her soul breaking into pieces.

"They are waiting for us," she reminded him. "Everyone."

The princess closed her eyes and then opened them once again.

"They need us," she reminded him. "Come on. Let's go."

Ned held her arm, walking out of his daughter's chambers and through the corridor while the staff watched them.

Eddard and Sansa were alone. She was an only child, having lost her mother early in life along with an unborn brother, and was the obvious future queen. It's not like they were in a full monarchy, though, but their roles were important. Her father's decisions were always to be accompanied and measured by the parliament and his authority had limits these days, as well as hers would. Still, there were things she needed to answer for and alliances that still required her. That's why she was in that dress today.

Jon Rhaegar Rodwell Nymerios Targaryen was the prince of a country close to theirs, much smaller but that needed their help. They were currently in a war, running out of soldiers and even food, and his older brother – King Aegon, the first – had approached her father with a proposition of exchanging his younger brother for full support. Eddard wanted to refuse, stating Sansa wasn't a coin to be exchanged, but she didn't. She was getting older – the two of them were – and the pressure to find a husband was turning her life into a mess. Every man she could ever meet was trying to get a place by her side or, worse, her bed. Everyone who approached Sansa wanted something and she couldn't take that any more.

The princess waved outside with a large smile while people cheered around them.

"We can still leave," he affirmed when the carriage stopped in front of the church. "We can leave, just say the word."

Sansa shook her head, squeezing his hand.

"Come on, dad," she smiled once again. "I'm not going back now."

The king walked her into the huge cathedral and the two stopped to talk to the bishop. She couldn't hear them, as Jeyne – her maid of honour - fixed the back of her dress and positioned herself along with the bridesmaids and the page boys.

When Sansa and Eddard finally started walking, she had to tell herself out of squeezing her father's hand too tightly or walking too slow – or fast. Her smile was almost painful to hold. She could feel the hand around hers tightening when they lied eyes on the man standing with his back turned to them beside his brother – the king. _Jon_ was strong, with large shoulders and strong arms that could probably lift her up with no effort, but shorter than her.

When he turned and looked at his bride, his eyes were the most grey Sansa had ever seen in her life, even greyer than her father's, beautiful and bright. She couldn't hear the words spoken to her, not with him looking at her with the corner of those eyes. When he turned to face her, he couldn't raise them to her face, but his voice was firm and his grip tight on her hand as he said his words.

"I, Jon Rhaegar Rodwell Nymerios, take thee, Sansa Alys Raya Gilliane Lynarra, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse; for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health; to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy law; and thereto I give thee my troth."

Sansa took a long breath before it was her turn. She and her father had had a long discussion about what she was going to say and how much that would mean.

_Don't make promises you can't keep._

"I, Sansa Alys Raya Gilliane Lynarra, take thee, Jon Rhaegar Rodwell Nymerios, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse; for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health; to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy law; and thereto I give thee my troth."

She could see the moment on Jon's face. The single, _small _word she'd left out that made his jaw twitch and his eyes to freeze on her face. Sansa could feel everyone staring at them, from King Aegon to her husband and every single person inside the building.

Obey.

She didn't promise to obey.


	2. Chapter 1

Jon had given up his nationality, titles, and right to the throne of King's Landing a week before marrying Sansa. All he had from his past was part of his name, and only because of the King's insistence. Targaryen. He was still a Targaryen.

They'd known each other for about five months and gotten engaged three weeks after their first meeting. The reasons behind their marriage were a secret to be kept and a cover story was carefully written to keep people from speculating.

To them, Sansa and Jon had met when he travelled in his brother's name to Winterland around one year and a half ago and kept constant contact ever since. They both shared the same love for films – especially those with Vivien Leigh – and Shakespeare, and he'd fallen for her when he heard her singing and playing the piano while looking for the restroom during his visit.

Bullshit.

" These shoes are killing me," Sansa whispered to Arya as Jeyne fixed her white dress for the pictures. "Why do I need to wear heels, again?"

" Because you're a princess," her cousin pointed out with a chuckle. "If I knew how to escape protocol, believe, I would have already."

" You'll be able to take those off soon enough," Jeyne assure her. "There will be a change of clothing for the ball."

" Besides, you won't need to wear heels a lot. Your husband is pretty short."

Sansa was ready to answer but went back to her standard position when Jon walked to stand by her side. He was, indeed, short – a strong contrast to his brother, who was relatively tall – but that didn't change the fact he was very handsome.

" You look very lovely," her husband whispered, and she felt a shiver running her skin.

His voice was low, thick and warm, with a comforting but thrilling sound.

" Thank you," Sansa said back as he stood straight, taking her hand. "You look very handsome."

" Thank you."

Pictures and more pictures were taken. The two alone, and then with the people waiting, family, and friends. Her father was the last one and, when it was done, he walked Sansa to a chair and kneeled in front of her.

" Arya mentioned you were complaining about your shoes," he explained nonchalantly, ignoring the looks they were receiving. "Why didn't you mention before?"

" I didn't think they would hurt too bad," she pulled the dress up enough as he helped her feet out of the straps. "They are too high."

" I can see that."

Sansa didn't miss Jon whispering something to King Aegon and the way both men watched them. They were a relatively small family: The queen mother – Elia – was still alive, though her husband had passed away half a decade prior, and they were their only children. They were never close to their father. Aegon was married to Margaery, a young and beautiful woman, but refraining himself from having children until the war was over. Now Jon had given up his nationality and titles, his cousin Rhaego was the official heir to the crown.

" Thank you," Sansa muttered when he helped her put on her favourite pair of very comfortable shoes. They were a bit old, but she didn't mind, and no one could complain about it anyway.

" Not for that," he stood up. "How do I look?"

" Like a king."

Ned smiled, helping his daughter up, and the doors were opened so she and Jon could walk outside and show off to the public eye. The newly-weds walked in hand in hand, followed by the other people but never looking back at them.

" I didn't think so many people would show up," he said by her side, sounding surprised and a bit excited. "They filmed us."

" They are still filming," she corrected him. "Taking pictures, probably writing about us."

" About your dress?" he sounded amused.

" Oh, that too," Sansa focused on a group of children, giving them a kind smile. "But also questioning my decision of marrying a foreign man, questioning your decision of giving everything up for me. Wondering how long it will take for me to start popping up children and if my overly protective father does think you are enough. Speculating whether you will still be an active man of the military or not from now on and how much influence on me that will have. How much you will influence them ."

Sansa could see how the words had surprised him, but Jon didn't have time to say anything, as they were already walking back into the room and the wedding celebration.

" Do I really need to stay?" she questioned her father in a whisper. "I'm exhausted."

" You know you do," he put his arm around hers. "There is the first dance and all of the diplomatic items you need to do. We will play your favourite song, what do you think?"

Sansa hesitated but took a breath.

" I don't have a choice, remember?"


	3. Chapter 2

Jon watched as Sansa sat on the armchair, still looking stunning but with tiredness behind her blue eyes. He'd loved her eyes as soon as he saw them closely. They were strong, brutal, and yet too delicate. A woman with no soft heart, he heard people say when he asked around, older than her age and beyond her time.

A perfect and adored princess to a pompous country.

" Do you need help?" he questioned when he noticed how hard it looked to bend down in such a tight ball gown.

The wedding had happened in the afternoon, just before the sunset, and had given place to a ball where Sansa had changed into a dress as white as the one she had used at the church, and even higher heels. They danced together there and he had finally had the real opportunity of looking at her, of feeling her finally. He'd never smelt such an attractive scent as her. Honestly, he wished it was acceptable for him to dip his wife and put his face in the crook of her neck and spend the night there, but she would probably feel uncomfortable with such contact.

" Thank you," Sansa muttered just before he kneeled in front of her – just like her father earlier – and handed her right foot delicately, removing the tight shoe and rubbing the front of it just before doing it to the next one.

The long sigh she left didn't go unnoticed by him, and he held back a small grin.

" There you go," he muttered. "Does it feel better?"

The princess nodded shyly, suddenly realising the position the two were and raised her eyes quickly at the knock on the open door.

" Your Royal Highness," her Lady of the Chamber stopped in front of them. "Is my assistance required?"

" Yes, please," Sansa stood up, feeling her cheeks awfully hot. "I need to get out of this dress."

Jon stepped back, excusing himself with a mutter before giving her privacy and walking out of the chambers they shared and stepping into the bedroom. The place looked comfortable, classical and large as expected. The bed – a special design – could fit at least three men of his size and still have some room left. With the number of pillows there, he could for sure make some sort of separator between them when the time to sleep came. They were staying in Winterfell – a castle named after the capital, the same castle Sansa had grown up in, where King Eddard lived. They had their own wing, of course, so far away from her father's that a phone call was an easier way to communicate than walking into wherever he could be. It was close to the kitchen at least and to the gym that he'd have installed there. It was close enough to Aegon's chambers too so he could spend the last days of his brother's stay with him. Maybe Sansa could even have some time with Marge and become friends.

On the door opposite to the one leading to the room she was in, his own servant waited to help him change into his sleepwear. It took him less time to get out of his formal attire and into warm cotton flannels after dismissing the silk option.

" Thank you," he wrapped himself in his cotton robes. "You may go."

Winterfell was probably the coldest place he had ever been in his life, but he didn't doubt it wasn't the worst in the country. Winterland was much bigger than the Crownlands. In the past, their continent was divided into nine kingdoms, and Winterland was formed by six of them, leaving the Crowlands with only the places once known as the Stormlands, the old Crowlands and Dorne – Although they had a small section of the old Reach, according to some maps.

Jon closed the door behind him himself, wondering what the people around were thinking. Did the staff know the truth or were they blissfully unaware of how he didn't know his bride, the woman who would lay by his side? Did they think they would consummate the marriage or just sleep in awkward silence?

He could hear when Sansa's servant walked out of the other room and the doors were closed, giving place to a deafening lack of sound only interrupted by the way the fabric of her ivory gown rubbing on itself.

" Your Royal Highness," he muttered, making her raise her eyebrows at him.

" You can't be serious," she stared at his face. "I have a name."

" Sansa Alys Raya Gilliane Lynarra?" he smirked.

" Sansa," she corrected him. "Would you enjoy if I called you Your Royal Highness, Jon Rhaegar Rodwell Nymerios, Duke of Winterfell every time we spoke to one another?"

Jon chuckled in a mixture of discomfort and amusement.

Duke. Not a prince. Not any more.

" That would be awfully annoying," he muttered. "I'd prefer to be called Jon."

He smiled and Sansa returned it without seeming to think before sitting on the bed. She had a beautiful smile.

" Sansa," he said, now much more relaxed and pulling a chair to sit in front of her at an arm's distance. "I imagine we need to talk about… tonight."

She confirmed, and he watched as her beautiful face changed back to the usual neutral and almost cold expression he'd been used to see.

" I don't think we should," he hesitated, trying to find his words and swallowing saliva. "I don't think we should rush things. I don't know you and you don't know me."

Sansa nodded slowly, and he saw her shoulders move as if something was lifted from them. She was nervous too, it made things much easier.

" Do you want your own bed?" she offered.

He shook his head.

" No, no," he smiled. "There is space for both of us in there."

Sansa nodded once again, and he ran a hand up and down his thigh.

" So," he looked into her eyes. "How do your feet feel?"

The princess just stared at him in silence, head tilted slightly to the side and a frown between her eyebrows, creating a single line there.

" I took off your shoes five minutes ago. You seemed to be in agonising pain. How did you manage to dance with them?"

She just offered him a dismissive expression.

" You learn things when you are a woman. Swallowing your pain is one of them."

He looked down at his own hands for one moment and then at her feet, coming up with an idea.

" Lay down, give me them," he reached out, lifting her ankles and trying not to glance at how the gown slipped up to reveal the soft pale skin of her naked calves.

" What are you doing?" his wife sounded alarmed.

" Giving my wife a foot rub," he said like it was obvious. "What does it look like I'm doing?"


End file.
